


Just a Question of Time

by Yesilian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Gen, Post HLV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesilian/pseuds/Yesilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gives Sherlock a birthday present. It's not a scarf. Well, not only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Question of Time

It had been weeks. No, months. John had thought about it for literal months. 

Sherlock didn't wear jewellery, which was too bad, because it would have made finding a present so much easier, maybe. Maybe not. He didn't wear ties, so no tie pin either. He did, however, have a use for cuff-links, something around the number of twice a year. So John looked at those. He became an expert on cuff-links. But in the end he decided that would be his fallback plan if he didn't find anything better. Twice a year wasn't nearly enough. This was supposed to _mean_ something. 

The idea struck John one night when he was getting ready for bed, undressing, taking his watch off, phone out, the usual. A watch! That was it. That was something he could wear every day, inconspicuously, and nobody would know what it meant. 

His first stop was the Omega shop and John very nearly cut it short and bought the latest James Bond Watch. He admired it on his wrist and the shop assistant told him it suited him very well before he came to his senses. This was meant to be for Sherlock, not for him. 

He left the shop after looking at every single watch for man. The price certainly seemed right, because John wanted to spend something on Sherlock, but then, this wasn't only meant to be a pretty gift, a substitute for jewellery. He knew what Sherlock needed in a timepiece, and it wasn't an expensive name, diamonds or just accurate movement. So he went to the next shop. And the next after that and the next after that. In the end he found the perfect watch. A simple, brown leather strap, easily replaced in case there was a need for it (and there would be, of course there would be). A round clock face, platinum casing (a bit of indulgence on John's side, if not strictly necessary). Stopwatch, milliseconds, time zones, alarm, atomic timekeeping, water proof up to 40 bar. And it cost less than a thousand pounds. It was the first time in John's life that he bemoaned a price for being too little. 

Christmas came and went catastrophically, but by Sherlock's birthday, the man was out of prison and back where he belonged, at 221b Baker Street. John was nervous. 

"Hi," he said and knew that Sherlock knew immediately what was going on. The man withdrew to the kitchen, going through the cupboards to bring distance between the two of them. 

"No time, John, I need to meet Mycroft in an hour," he yelled from behind a cupboard door and John felt actually relieved. Sherlock was more nervous than he was, that helped John a lot. 

"Okay, I'll make this quick then," he said and got comfortable at the kitchen table. He looked at Sherlock expectantly for a moment, then he put the gift back on the table top, pushing it towards an empty chair. Sherlock's nose peaked out behind the wood of the door and he stopped clanging things together for a moment. 

"Thank you for the scarf," he said primly, and added, less politely, "Now I really must ask you to leave me alone." 

"Not just a scarf this time," John said light-heartedly. In all fairness, it was a tradition. Every year since they had known each other, John would give him a new scarf. Sherlock was impossible to shop for, had no need for titbits, but, John reasoned, he could always use a new scarf. Mind, they almost always looked nearly identical, their main characteristics being _blue_. So John had fun finding another one and another one with just discernible stripes, always a bit different from the last one, but not enough so for a casual observer. He had even gone on buying new ones while Sherlock was gone, had cried over their silky softness and laid them down on the fake grave every sixth of January. It wasn't a pleasant time and John didn't like thinking about those years. 

Sherlock, now, was curious but also deeply embarrassed. John knew he hated being given anything because Sherlock didn't know how to react accordingly, was too anxious to get it right.  

"Come and sit down with me for a minute," John said lightly and pushed the chair out for his friend, both invitation and command. As always, Sherlock followed this tone of voice. He sat down and folded his hands in his lap, looking down at them. John watched him for a moment longer and sighed inwardly. Well, he would have to do it himself then. That wasn't actually the worst thing, he reasoned. 

John pulled the gift bag back to himself. The scarf, another silk-mix, another designer brand (even though John couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what a scarf needed designing for. It was a long, straight length of woollen fabric), lay on top of the big jewellery box. John took it out and laid it aside. 

"Vertical stripes this year, but you have to get really close to see them," he explained in the hope that Sherlock would look up. Which he did, for a moment, with a lovely smile on his lips. John beamed back at him and Sherlock swallowed, but he also looked hopeful. So beautiful. 

Bravely, John took the jewellery box from the bottom of the bag. Sherlock's eyes went wide. 

"Do you want to deduce it?" John offered. For a moment it looked as if, yes, Sherlock very much wanted to say what he thought was in there. But then, he just shook his head and cleared his throat. 

"Don't want to spoil your surprise," he said, scratchy, and cleared his throat again. John opened the box and took the watch out. 

"Not much of a surprise there," he said. He opened the strap buckle. "Also not three months' salary, but then, I'm a doctor." He smiled and wondered if Sherlock would get it. "I had something engraved at the back, do you want to see it?" John held the watch out, face down, to Sherlock who took it without thought, it seemed. John watched him hold the watch in his hand and marvelled at how it almost disappeared in Sherlock's large palm. 

"29/1/2010," Sherlock read out blankly. "St Barts, Farringdon, London." John smiled at the memory. 

"The place and day we met," Sherlock explained, again, seemingly, without thought, simply answering an unasked question automatically. He met John's gaze and held it for a moment, before John took the watch back. Sherlock let it go easily and when John reached for his wrist, he gave that willingly, too. John started to put the watch on him, aware that Sherlock was perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

"The engraving isn't in the middle of the body," Sherlock sputtered nervously. John smiled at him through his eyelashes and Sherlock averted his eyes again. 

"Might want to add something in the future," John explained lightly as if it wasn't a big deal. Which it was. It really was. He was done closing the strap but Sherlock didn't draw his arm back. Once more bracing himself, John took a very deep breath and took Sherlock's hand in both his. 

"A ring," he started, then hesitated. "But you don't wear jewellery. And besides, it would give the wrong impression. Hey." Because Sherlock had now taken his arm away. He crossed both before his chest. "That's not what I meant. Hey. Look at me." But Sherlock wouldn't. "I'm married," John implored him. "In a moment, I have to go back to my wife." Sherlock now turned his head away, too and John mustered him for a minute. "I _have_ to, do you understand?" After a while, Sherlock shrugged and sniffed. John's heart broke at the same time as it swelled with joy. He hadn't misread Sherlock if he reacted like that. 

"I need to do this, _I_ do," John reiterated. 

"Divorce?" Sherlock asked in a small, thin voice. John shook his head, knowing that Sherlock would observe him from out of the corner of his eyes. 

"Something else." Finally, Sherlock faced him once more. He looked worried and when he spoke, his voice was much firmer. 

"You can't take her on your own. She's too dangerous!" 

John smiled grimly. "I'm not. On my own." Sherlock look quizzically at him. John hated that he couldn't tell him any more. "I can't say more, I'm afraid." 

"You're keeping me out of the loop?" Sherlock asked incredulously. John had thought, before, that he would relish this moment, when Sherlock found out that John had plans without him. Make him taste his own medicine and all that. But it didn't feel good. At all. 

"I _have_ to," he stressed. Sherlock huffed and that broke the spell. He was being petulant, indignant, but not angry at John.  

"You're really annoyed that you're being left out of an adventure, aren't you?" John said lightly and fell back into his chair. 

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm merely worried about you," Sherlock claimed. He, too, relaxed now that the moment was over. He glanced at John from below his lashes and bit his lip coyly. "And I don't trust my brother to keep a close enough eye on you."  

It was John's turn to sputter. "Who said anything about your brother?" he asked very nervously. 

"Please, John," Sherlock chided. "Don't insult my intelligence." After a breathless moment John laughed, but kept his mouth shut on the matter. As promised. Sherlock put his hand back on the table, close to John's, but not touching it. But John knew what he meant. He put his hand in Sherlock's. 

"Next year, then?" Sherlock asked and was once more and very suddenly shy. John squeezed his hand. 

"If you'll wear it," he promised. 

**Author's Note:**

> Quickly written little thing that wouldn't leave me alone yesterday.  
> Come and be friends on tumblr, yesilian.tumblr.com


End file.
